


Like Sunshine After the Rain

by cVee



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/M, Heartbreak, Hurt/Comfort, Marriage, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 10:54:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20113939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cVee/pseuds/cVee
Summary: After almost being handed over to the Boltons, Sansa is glad to welcome the betrothal to one Harrold Hardyng. Harry, however, is not.





	Like Sunshine After the Rain

**Author's Note:**

> I tweaked with the timeline a bit and merged the showverse with the book, using some parts of the excerpts from TWOW.  
I should really be working on my original works rather than this but meh. We need more fanfics for this pairing.

_ **“I can’t marry him! You can’t make me! He’s a traitor! A murderer!”** _

Perhaps she had gotten complacent with herself. She had thought she knew what men like Lord Baelish were after and with that, she thought she could’ve used it to her advantage. She had thought she had broken free from being a chained little bird, bound to be a bystander with all the deaths and manipulations happening around her. But apparently, she was nothing more than a pawn in this cruel game of theirs. Mayhaps she was only swapping off one cage for another. She saw it in the way Baelish had looked at her as if he already knew she was going to comply with the marriage proposal. She heard it in the certainty of his tone when he told her she was to marry into the family who betrayed and butchered her own.

Even when she had protested and railed- _“No! You can’t make me! I will starve myself! I will die before-!”_\- as her shoulders heaved with emotions, her voice wavering with outrage yet her vehemence remained firm.

And he had tried to soothe her, paying no heed to her outcry as if those had been mere words babbled by a stupid little girl who knew scant of the world around her, cutting her off with a call of her name (_Sansa_) like he was chiding a petulant child throwing a temper tantrum.

With firm hands on her shoulders, he had been telling her of how she had been running away all her life when the sound of hooves against rocks and soil and the neighing of horses interposed, followed by the sight of the knights garbed in their mails and plate, bearing the Arryn banners with the familiar sky-blue falcon against a white moon.

“My lady, your presence is called for back in the Eyrie.”

* * *

_Robert Arryn had died, fallen off a horse and broke his neck._

* * *

“You said you won’t let me be wed against my will. You promised.” Harry had all but stormed into Lady Anya’s solar, words laced with barely bridled indignation.

His guardian and aunt sat unperturbed, even with his unruly arrival, calmly sipping her tea before turning her attention to him.

“I did.”

“And?”

“If you remembered correctly, the betrothal was made when Lady Catelyn Stark had come to the Vale, with the imp in tow and the hope of Vale rallying to their side. As you know how that ended. Should anything happen to them or the Arryns in these times of war which are somehow Lady Sansa’s last known living relatives, aside from the Tullys, then the heir to the Vale was to marry Lady Sansa and keep her under his protection.”

Harry made to speak but Lady Anya cut him off with a sharp look before continuing.

“Of course there was no certainty that Lady Sansa would escape King’s Landing at that time. But Lady Catelyn was desperate to ensure her daughter’s safety and the agreement had then been made behind Lady Arryn’s back after she had refused to help the Starks in the war.”

“But she’s married to the imp,” He argued, still disgruntled.

“Annulled.” Lady Anya waved a dismissive hand. “The betrothal was made for Lady Sansa’s safety. If not that, we can’t leave her with Lord Baelish. She’s as safe with him as a flock of sheep around a hungry wolf.”

“Surely a marriage is not necessary for her safety.”

Lady Anya’s expression turned grim, an air of disappointment washing over her.

“Do you really think Vale would strive to protect a girl who has no **_significant_** connection to the House Arryn? When she’s Lady of the Vale her protection is paramount.”

Harry pursed his lips, already knowing he was losing this argument but unwilling to give up as he averted his gaze from Lady Anya’s stern look, glaring defiantly at a spot on the floor.

“She’s a lovely girl, if you’re worried about that.”

“I know,” Harry practically ground out,” I saw her when Littlefinger was parading her around as his niece then.”

“Then it shan’t be much of a problem now, should it?” His foster mother arched a brow.” A lovely highborn girl from one of the oldest and proudest houses of Westeros.”

“She’s comely enough, yes,” He begrudgingly conceded.” But Saffron-“

“Will stay in Gulltown with her rich merchant father and will be well taken care of.”

“I promised her I’d marry her,” He reminded.

“Just like how you promised Cissy, I suppose.”

“That was different.” His protest fell on deaf ears.

“Look, Harrold,” Lady Anya’s expression softened, but her voice remained unwavering.” This would be best for you. You should know highborns have no such luxury as marrying for love. She’s going to be a good wife.”

* * *

_“I hope I’m not a disappointment to you, Ser Harrold.”_

_“Why should marrying a daughter of a traitor please me?”_

The three Waynwoods had immediately looked at him askance and Lady Anya had chided him with a frosty glare but the damage had already been done.

_A lady’s armor is her courtesy_, Sansa had to repeat it to herself like a mantra engraved in her mind as she felt blood rushing to her face, praying for the tears to be held at bay until she was alone. She had then forced a smile, willing it to not come out looking bland and half-hearted as she excused herself to greet and welcome the other lords, entrusting Myranda Royce to show the Waynwoods and Ser Harrold to their assigned chambers.

Such was her haste to get away from there that she ran headlong into Ser Lother Brune, almost knocking him off his feet. _“Harry the Heir? Harry the Arse, I say. He’s just some upjumped squire.”_

She had been so grateful to him that she hugged him, thanking him.

After seeing him, she can admit that Harrold Hardyng was handsome, looking every inch a lord-in-waiting; clean-limbed and handsome, straight as a lance, hard with muscle, with his mop of sandy blond hair, pale blue eyes, aquiline nose, and sharp cheekbones practically popping out.

She remembered how he had stared at her, seemingly not pleased at seeing her when she and Myranda, Lord Yohn Royce’s niece, had welcomed the Waynwoods upon their arrival. He had looked at her coldly before insulting her. The only time he didn’t look displeased had been when Myranda had japed with the Waynoods, only cracking a thin smile that it would’ve escaped most people.

At least, it would probably be better than being wed to a Bolton, she thought to herself later that day as she had found herself at the Eyrie’s garden.

She’ll never forget how Littlefinger was going to hand her over to the Boltons, marrying her to the family who murdered her brother and mother and took Winterfell.

Littlefinger had been reluctant to turn her over to the knights of the Vale who caught up to them at Moat Cailin, having traveled and rode their horses to the point of exhaustion. Littlefinger had looked over his own guards as if planning to have them fight the knights and thought better of slighting the lords of the Vale before conceding. With that, he didn’t even ride back to the Vale with them, claiming he had some unfinished business to take care of.

As soon as she arrived back at Eyrie, it was disclosed that when her late mother had last visited Vale to ask for their help in the war she had made a hasty betrothal to ensure Sansa’s safety should anything happen to them if she somehow escapes King’s Landing. Sansa Stark was the least of the queen’s problem with her capture by the faith militant which she had brought to power with her own stupidity, the Tyrells breaking off their alliance after Cersei had a hand in getting Loras and Margaery Tyrell captured, withdrawing all their supplies and provisions from King’s Landing, and with her brother nowhere to be found in the capital the queen had no friends in King’s landing, left with her child king son who was easily manipulated and had a precarious claim to the throne with rumors of his bastardy going around, and there was still Stannis who could attack them any time to push forward his claim on the throne.

However, they had made it clear to her that her Stark heritage will be kept a secret outside a few lords of the Vale, resuming the guise of Petyr Baelish's niece and she’d only be referred to as Sansa Arryn after the wedding.

Amidst everything she reminded herself that she needed him. She needed his army to retake Winterfell and go home.

There was a large feast later that night, held in honor of Ser Harrold Hardyng- now Lord Harrold Arryn- being the new Lord of the Vale. Twenty-seven courses meal were served, from almond milk stews, lampreys in beef gravy, stews cooked with onions, fish in batter in green sauce, salad of sweetgrass, sweetcorn fritters, suckling pigs, roasted boars and venison cooked with beer and barley to puddings, pigeon pies, and custards. Myranda had teasingly jested at her that she was sorry there would be no lemon cakes that night, having heard of her love for the treat, but said dessert would have been reserved for her wedding day, adding the last part with a wink, making her flush.

When the last course had been served and cleared, the tables were lifted from their trestles to clear the floor for dancing and musicians and singers were brought in.

Lord Coldwater, who would be her first partner that evening, had asked the honor of a dance with her. After that knights and lords flocked to her, showering her compliments and exchanging pleasantries with her. Even Ser Roland Waynwood had swept her up and made her laugh with his japes about the other knights and still bringing about how she had stolen his heart. Lady Anya’s youngest son, Wallace, took a turn as well and tried to amiably speak to her but had badly stammered through his sentences. Sansa took pity on him and started chattering happily to spare him the embarrassment. When the dance was done she politely excused herself and went back to her place to have a drink of wine.

And there he stood, the new Lord of the Vale himself: tall, handsome, and scowling. “My Lady. May I partner you in this dance?”

She considered it momentarily.” No, I don’t think so.”

Color rose to his cheeks.” I was unforgiveably rude to you in the yard. You must forgive me.”

“Must?” She tossed her hair, sipped her wine, making him wait.” How can you forgive someone who is unforgiveably rude? Will you explain that to me, my lord?”

Harrold looked bemused. “Please. One dance.”

“If you insist.”

He nodded, offering her his arm, leading her out onto the floor and waited for the music to resume before commencing to the dance.

She urged herself to say something to him, mustering the courage to talk to him. After all, they were to be wed might as well start on speaking terms. She didn’t want to start with the usual compliment on how much of a good dancer he was, he’d probably heard that a dozen times already and would make her seem too eager. Instead she said,” I have heard that you are about to be a father.” It was not something most girls would say to their betrothed, but she wanted to see if Ser Harrold would lie.

“For the second time. My daughter Alys is two years old.”

_Your bastard daughter Alys_, Sansa mentally added, but what she said was,” That one has a different mother, though.”

“Yes, Cissy was a pretty thing when I tumbled her, but childbirth left her as fat as a cow, so Lady Anya arranged for her to marry one of her men-at-arms. It is different with Saffron.”

“Saffron?” Sansa tried not to laugh.” Truly?”

The new Lord Arryn had the grace to blush.” Her father says she is more precious to him than gold. He’s the richest man in Gulltown. A fortune in spices.”

“What will you name the babe?” She asked. “Cinnamon if she’s a girl? Cloves if he’s a boy?”

That almost made him stumble. “My lady japes.”

“Oh, no.”

“Saffron is very beautiful, I’ll have you know. Tall and slim, with big brown eyes and hair like honey.”

Sansa raised her head.” More beautiful than me?”

Harrold studied her face.” You are comely enough, I grant you.”

She noticed how he had averted directly answering her question. She once heard of a saying that a compliment does not matter before the word ‘but’.

“When Lady Anya first told me of the match, I remembered you being introduced as Littlefinger’s niece and I was afraid that you might look like your uncle.”

“Little pointy beard and all?” Sansa laughed.

“I never meant...”

“I hope you joust better than you talk,” She said, referring to the small tourney that will be held in favor of the new Lord of the Vale.

For a moment he looked shocked. But as the song was ending, he burst into a laugh.” No one told me you were clever.”

He has good teeth, she thought, straight and white. And when he smiles, he has the nicest, dimples. She ran one finger down his cheek.” Should we ever wed, you’ll have to send Saffron back to her father. I’ll be all the spice you’ll want.”

* * *

The snow is falling softly outside when Harry stormed out to the gardens after another unsuccessful session of convincing Lady Anya to break off the betrothal. This time, Roland and Wallace were joining into the fray against him, heartily trying to persuade him of how fortunate he was of this betrothal. He has a half a mind to snap at the two and tell them that if they liked her so much why don’t they just marry her? Instead he had recourse to making himself scarce after Lady Anya had dismissed him after saying that her decision and the other lords’ decisions were final.

White blankets of snow rest upon the Eyrie’s garden. The statue at the center peeked out from under it fresh white shroud as a few clumps of flakes drifted windlessly down. He trod through the layer of snow that had settled on the ground, his steps crunching and slightly sinking underfoot.

“You look troubled.”

Sansa, in her winter garb of woolen clothes, cloak, and gloves, was daintily crouched down in front what seemed like a miniature castle made out of snow, molding clumps of snow in her hands. Flakes of snow has carefully kissed her Tully red hair which bled strikingly against the white backdrop, her cheeks are flushed with the cold, her blue eyes are emphasized with the light that hits them amidst the white, and tiny silvery flakes had caught on to the tips of her long lashes. He had also noticed how she freely let down her hair with only two tufts of it being tied back behind, tresses tumbling down her shoulders.

After the feast, Harry had warmed up to the girl. He knew she had as much say in the betrothal as he had. She was comely and only a year younger than him. Her wit was her best quality that stood out among the rest. However, polite and friendly was all he could offer her, for he could never give her his heart.

“Roland was just being annoying this early in the morning.” Technically, it wasn’t entirely a lie.

Sansa gave him a barely concealed amused smile as if she didn’t believe him before resuming to work on the snow castle she was making.” And you’re certain it’s not about Lady Waynwood dismissing your attempts at breaking off the betrothal, My Lord?”

“How did you-“

“I happen to use the same hallway your chambers are situated by.”

“Lady Anya had promised me she was not going to wed me against my will,” He filled in.

“I believe you,” She smiled.” Highborn people like us are privileged with many luxuries but marrying for love isn’t part of those.”

“I know,” He grudgingly relented.” Lady Anya keeps drilling that into my head.”

Sansa stood from her crouched position, rubbing her hands, her eyes holding a certain sad look on them.” My brother lost the war and his head when he didn’t honor his betrothal.”

Sansa moved closer to him to the point where he can see puffs of air escaping her whenever she spoke.” I don’t want you to end up in the same fate, my lord. Wars have been raged over for less. You don’t need to love me. But somehow, we’re going to need each other one way or another.”

“Oh?” He quirked a brow.” I need you?”

“Somehow,” Was her ambiguous answer.

“And how about what we want, my lady? What do you even want?”

“Home,” She answered softly.” But I cannot do that without an army. And what I need is to keep my head attached to my shoulders.”

He realized the snow castle she had been making must be a replica of her home.” Do you miss it?”

“Always,” She inclined her head upwards to look at the snow slowly falling down, a sad smile on her lips, and in that moment Harry thought she looked like the perfect winter goddess.” I’m scared of forgetting what it looked like. Home.”

“Seems to me like you’ve still perfectly remembered it,” He said with a smile, trying to dissipate the somber air around them.

* * *

A dusty swirl of purple, lavender and indigo had settled on the sky by the time they were done exchanging their vows in the sept. Under the sky blue cloak of House Arryn draped on her shoulders, she was donned in a long sleeved off white wedding gown bordering on pale gray with an elaborate embroidery, paired with a fur wrap. The dress was a lot more comfortable than the last one she was wed. The snow had long stopped falling outside by the time the feast had started and the dishes were served. Sansa had smiled when they wheeled in a large lemon cake frosted in sugar.

She threw a sidelong glance at her husband who was drinking his wine and had kept an amiable attitude throughout the ceremony and the feast so far. She was well aware of how he hadn’t been pleased with the match. She had overheard him trying to talk to Lady Waynwood into breaking off the betrothal. If she were any woman, she would’ve felt slighted but Sansa understood their arrangement and their duty. He didn’t even need to love her, only like her, even just a bit. After the feast held for him, Harry had turned nicer to her and less hostile. After he had gotten over his scowling and resentment at her for a betrothal she also had no say in, Sansa had come to realize that he was just a young man driven by rashness, vanity and arrogance that comes with boys his age, impatient, temperamental and still had the boyish quality in him. Even with the prospect of their marriage looming over their horizon and the wars raging all over them, Harry can still grin and smile unburdened, carefree with his laughter and dimples flashing on his cheeks. Oftentimes, she catches herself asking _how can he even smile like that?_ Even with the force of his indignation at the betrothal, the notion of being separated from the one he truly loved and a lordship and Stark bride suddenly being shoved to him when not mere days ago he had only been a freshly dubbed knight from a small house of landed knights, not even an heir to House Hardyng.

_It must be overwhelming for him_, she reasoned.

Over the past few days before their wedding, she would like to think that Harry and her had eventually come to be friends. Sometimes, when Harry slips from Lord Yohn Royce’s and Lady Anya’s lessons on schooling him to be a proper lord of the Vale he goes to the garden where Sansa would usually be and they’d talk before Lord Yohn or Lady Waynwood drags him back to his lessons.

* * *

The kiss was deep and demanding and Sansa briefly wondered if Harry pictured big brown eyes and honey blonde hair behind closed lids before he pulled her closer, ending the fleeting thought. Even with his hand running through her now loosened hair and the other at her hip pressing her closer, even if she all but melted into him with their proximity there’s a certain space between them that Sansa doesn’t know how to fill, so she kissed him back, hoping to ignore the void.

It wasn’t unpleasant and Harry was not forceful and rough to her. She knew from the beginning that unlike her previous marriage, this one cannot go without being unconsummated. She moaned and mewled when Harry ran his hands all over her body, stroking and caressing. She didn’t protest when he sucked, nibbled, and kneaded her breasts, not even when he lowered his head between her legs. She’s reduced to little more than moans and whimpers as Harry’s tongue stroked her until she was rocking her hips against him, her hands raking and pulling his hair as she spread her thighs wide, open and encouraging.

They’re both breathless and she could feel his hardness against her by the time he spread her legs apart and thrust his cock inside her. It hurt at first, but Harry- _Oh Harry!_\- with all his experience, knew how to make a girl feel good. Each thrust makes her clench and shudder around him when he developed a rhythm, scratching his back, lips parted in a moan or a scream.

Her voice is more wanton and steeped in pleasure when she screamed out _Harder! Faster! Deeper! More!_, clutching the sheets or anything she could get her hands on as he pounded her in a different angle, making her see stars in a burst of white hot pleasure.

_“P-please… Gods, o-oh right there… Don’t s-stop!”_

_“Fuck.”_

When his thumb rubbed against her clit along with his thrusts, Sansa lost it, tipping over the edge as she convulsed and squeezed around him, spraying her juices on him, howling and gasping. His pace sped up, slamming into her with more fervor, almost desperate. She doesn’t know if he calls out someone else’s name as she pressed a kiss to his lips, drowning out the sound, his seed spilling into her and filling her to the brim.

* * *

Harry saw the troubled look on Sansa’s face as they bring him into his chambers. The expression on her face doesn’t sit well with him as he hastily stifled a hiss of pain, sucking in a sharp breath as he continue pressing his hand to the wound sliced in his side, keeping it from oozing more blood.

He heard Maester Colemon instruct Ser Byron, who was helping him into the room, to place him on the bed.

It had been an ambush. The mountain clans around the Vale had gotten bolder, getting more active since receiving steel armors and weapons that were, according to rumors, provided by the Lannisters. As of lately he had been finding excuses to leave the Eyrie and so he jumped into the opportunity to lead a small patrol, leaving the Eyrie in the hands of Sansa and the newly appointed high advisor, Lord Yohn Royce.

When they had taken out two of his men in the ambush Harry had rashly rushed into the fray. Fortunately, the wound he had sustained may be a bit deep but hadn’t hit any vital parts.

“I would appreciate it if you try to stay alive,” Sansa said as soon as Maester Colemon had left after tending to his wound, leaving the two of them in his chambers.

“I think it takes more than a bunch of clansmen to kill me, Sansa,” He grinned.

“Harry, I mean it, you can’t afford to make stupid mistakes this early in your rule,” Sansa pointed out, using the tone he had found himself accustomed to whenever she was giving him her “advices”.

“You’re the lord of the Vale now. Your free days are over.”

“I know,” He droned, exhausted and resolving to turn away from her to retire for the night when the wound in his side throbbed painfully.

“No-“ Sansa stopped herself from spewing another scolding when she noticed how he had sharply sucked in a breathe and winced.” Don’t move around too much. You’re going to re-open your wound.”

“Yes, _mother_.” He japed.

“Harry…” She reproved.

“Sansa…” He mocked with a lopsided smile.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“And you’re bossy.”

“Sorry for wanting to keep you alive, my lord,” She sassed.” It won’t happen again.”

“Clever girl,” Harry chuckled.

* * *

It is a month into their marriage when they receive a missive from Gulltown. Lord Gerold, a hearty and courteous man with a booming voice as Sansa remembered meeting him once, had invited them to his eldest son’s marriage to a daughter of a rich merchant in the port city.

“It would be a good idea to attend it, my lord,” Lord Yohn advised.” The other lords will be in attendance. It might help you gain the respect of your people.”

Harry’s gaze flicked to Sansa and she nodded.

It was only as they were nearing Gulltown that she realized why he did so. And it was only during the wedding ceremony that her suspicions were proven right.

She had caught wind of how the richest man in Gulltown was in attendance, along with his pregnant daughter. Sansa’s gaze shifted across the room and she took notice of a girl who was staring at Harry standing next to her. She was tall with honey blonde hair flowing down her shoulders, ivory skin, a heart shaped face and big brown eyes… and heavily pregnant, she mentally added, eyeing the bump on her stomach. Harry had been right, she was very beautiful.

Unconsciously, she entwined her hand with Harry’s, receiving a squeeze from him, oblivious to the longing stare he was getting from across the room.

During the feast, she couldn’t help but notice Harry’s gaze darting to where Saffron was seated or sneaking a glance from the rim of his goblet. Her husband thought he was actually being discreet but Sansa caught on so easily.

When the tables and floor were cleared for the dancing, girls flocked over to Harry, asking the new Lord Arryn for a dance. But she knew there was only one girl he would love to dance with that night.

Sansa herself had also dance with the other lords and knights after sharing a dance with her lord husband.

When Harry had been dancing with one Lord Lynderly’s daughters, Janyce Lynderly if she remembered correctly, Sansa had excused herself, stepping out on the veranda for some air. She was gazing into the view of the port from there when she heard footsteps behind her before it lagged into an eventual stop.

Sansa swiveled around, only to come face to face with Saffron.

She tried not to make the bemusement she was feeling show, keeping a polite neutrality in her expression.” Is there something I can help you with, my Lady?”

“No.” The blonde smiled, her doe eyes holding a soft look.” I just wanted to see the girl my Harry replaced me with up close, Lady Sansa.”

_Lady Sansa and not Lady Arryn_, she mused.

“We’re hardly competing, Lady Saffron,” She added her name to make sure the girl knew that she was not unaware as to who she was.

“He loved me. He was going to marry me.” Saffron turned towards the veranda railings, letting her gaze linger on the view outside instead.” He asked my father for my hand. We were going to be wed and raise our child together.”

At the word ‘child’, Saffron affectionately placed a hand on her protruding stomach.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I just wanted you to know that I wasn’t just another notch in his bedpost.”

_That I mattered_, Sansa could hear the unspoken words in her tone, _that he loved me and still loves me_.

It was sad, really.

Sansa briefly wondered if she remained that stupid silly girl without having endured everything she had gone through so far, would she also be like this? With the only problems she has being heartbreak and silly notions of promises loosely made by some young knight in passing romances.

“I wish you well, my lady,” Sansa executed a curtsy before leaving the girl to her thoughts of lost love and broken promises.

Harry had shot her a questioning look when she returned to her place at the table. She had responded with an assuring smile and excused herself, intent on retiring for the night in their assigned chambers.

“You’re early,” Sansa hinted, treading dangerously with the insinuation in her tone when Harry had ambled into their chambers that night, unsteadiness in his steps and red on the tip of his nose with intoxication.” And very much drunk.”

Harry merely grinned, all but stumbling back into a chair, and on the way of pouring himself another goblet of wine from the table that held a flagon of the drink and a variety of fruits.

Sansa had climbed out of bed, quickly crossing the room in long strides as she took the wine from his grasps with a disapproving look.” What happened?”

“She’s getting married.”

_Oh._

She didn’t even need to question if they met up.

“Her father had arranged for her to marry into another merchant family in Lannisport.”

Even with a soiled reputation and a broken maidenhead, she knew the girl would have no problem finding potential husbands, being the daughter of the richest man in Gulltown.

She didn’t know what to say. It was not common for husbands to share their woes over the woman they loved with their wives who’s certainly not said woman. So she pulled him into an embrace, gently stroking his hair and pressing a kiss to his forehead before initiating a kiss from him.

She had taken him to bed that night, daringly riding him to completion as he moaned and grunted under her.

She made sure to leave a bright red hickey on his neck, making her claim known the next day. _Because she mattered too._

* * *

“What is he doing here?”

Sansa regarded the figure of Willas Tyrell with half of his retinue in the courtyard from the balcony. They had arrived the afternoon prior to that day and it had puzzled Sansa how inconspicuously small the size of his entourage had been, considering he was a Tyrell. Earlier that day, the Tyrell heir had gained audience in private with Harry.

“He wanted to know if the Vale could ally themselves to the Reach and rally to their side when they call,” Harry answered, following where her gaze was directed over at the courtyard.” In return, the Reach would be willing to supply the Vale with a portion of their harvests.”

“The Tyrells are preparing for when Cersei Lannister would deal a very dangerous move on them and if she does, they intend to strike back. So they need all the allies they can get,” Harry apprised.

“And?” She coaxed, studying his reaction.

“I told him I would think about it. I’d have consult other lords on it.”

“So far, what do you think?”

“Vale isn’t the most fertile land but the Reach is,” He acknowledged.” They produce crops that won’t even take root here.”

“But you’re not sure if you can trust the Tyrells?” Sansa finished for him.

Harry nodded.” It’s just too abrupt.”

“The knights of the Vale are the most equipped and well-rested army in Westeros. The rest of the kingdoms are weary and strained with fighting wars these past few years,” Sansa filled in. “They know this.”

* * *

There’s an unexpected storm and Willas along with his entourage stays longer than they have intended. She was to be retrieving some scrolls in the Eyrie’s library when she encountered Willas there. _He was to be my husband_, she indistinctly remembered. He is comely, less comely than his brother Loras as she had remembered him to be, but there’s a certain appeal to him. He is less obtrusive than the knight of flowers and there’s a certain depth in his brown eyes that Loras lacked. He had darker hair than his siblings and unlike Loras or Garlan the Gallant, he had kept his own locks short.

_I was to wed him_, Sansa thought to herself, _He would’ve brought me to Highgarden_ _and I was to bear his children. I had planned on naming them Eddard, Bran and Rickon._

Sansa fleetingly wondered if being his wife would’ve given him the same power and inclusion she had the privilege of receiving in Vale. She remembered how she had to wrestle a bit of power from Harry in ruling Vale whenever she asked to be included in the beginning. They had argued about it at first. Harry felt like she had been undermining his rule and she was quick to point out that she was just trying to help him. Harry didn’t like being questioned and she had finally snapped then, telling him how he won’t be a great liege lord if he doesn’t listen to anyone else but himself. Harry was a grown man capable of making his own decisions and he had been schooled on diplomacy and warfare well enough, that’s true, but there were things in ruling that would go far from mere lesson that he was inexperienced in.

“Lady Arryn,” Willas greeted as soon as he took notice of her, making to stand up as he supported himself on his cane.

“Please sit, my lord,” She smiled sweetly at him.” I intruded.”

“No, not at all, my lady.” He gestured at the chair across him on the small library table.

She wordlessly accepted the invitation and took a seat.” How are you enjoying your stay in the Vale so far, my lord?”

“It is alright. The Vale is quite lovely, my lady.”

“And so is The Reach, I hear.”

“It is,” He nodded, there’s a certain look in his eyes that doesn’t escape her.” You’re far more beautiful than my sister had told me about, Lady Sansa.”

Her breath caught in her throat and inwardly she was panicking, alarm bells going off in her head.

_He knows_, she thought, appalled.

“Don’t worry, my lady, I mean you no harm,” He said and there was just something in his tone that didn’t make her doubt him.

“He seems like a good man, your husband.” Just like her, he had probably remembered their almost-betrothal.

“He is.” And she meant it.

They continued conversing, Willas was a well-educated and scholarly man that it was easy to fall into a conversation with him, until Harry had to fetch them for supper.

“What did he want with you?” Harry asked as soon as they settled into their place in the dining table, slightly bending over to whisper into her ear.

“We were merely discussing about the wonders of Vale and the Reach.”

“For three hours?”

She smiled at him, pressing a kiss on the side of his lips.” No need to be jealous, husband.”

“I am not jealous, wife. Simply curious, that’s all.”

The storm had let up the next day and Willas was safe to travel back to Highgarden with his retinue.

A few days later, she heard news of the Tarlys’ betrayal to the Tyrells and the unexpected sacking of Highgarden by the Lannister army. Margaery, Loras, and Mace Tyrell had perished in the wildfire that razed the Sept of Baelor to the ground, Olenna Tyrell had died during the sacking, Garlan was taken a prisoner, his wife, children and Willas nowhere to be found.

* * *

She woke up one morning feeling nausea clawing at her throat, her stomach contracting violently, and she tried to force the bile down long enough to reach her chamber pot, lurching forward and sinking to her knees. Whatever remained of last night’s dinner surge through her throat and spewed out from her mouth, forcing everything out and filling her nostrils with the stench of vomit.

Harry had awoken to the sound of her retching and coughing, hurriedly coming to her side as he hastily held back her hair for her and rubbed her back in an attempt to soothe her.

Tears spilled from her eyes as she heaved and expelled her guts out into her chamber pot. By the time she was finished, her throat had felt sore and there was a horrible aftertaste left on her tongue.

Harry had handed her water which she had readily accepted.

“Are you alright now?”

“Just a bit nauseous.”

He had helped her into her into the bed, worriedly eyeing her the whole time before leaving to fetch Maester Colemon.

Harry had swept her into a big bear hug and showered her face with kisses after Maester Colemon had informed them that she was with child.

* * *

Harry was seriously doubting if Sansa was the same soft-spoken and sweet-tempered woman he had married. Ever since she had gotten pregnant, she had been prone to violent mood swings and would snap at him for several occasions. Even with the most trivial and unimportant mistakes he’d make, all seven hells would rain down upon him and she’d go ballistic. On some days, everything he did annoyed her. What he thought was impossible was proven wrong when Sansa had started swearing and laughing at this had made her even more livid, looking ferocious like the direwolf of her family sigil and appearing nearly like she wanted to strangle him. And if she’s not grumpy or biting his head off, then she’d be crying and honestly, Harry didn’t know which was worse. Just the other night he had caught her crying hysterically in her solar over the ink that blotted the letter she had been writing.

He had hugged her and tried consoling her while she continued weeping, repeating _‘I’ve ruined it!’_ in between her tears and sobbing.

When Lady Anya’s heir, Morton Waynwood and his son, Roland had paid them a visit, Roland had thought it was a good idea to gift Sansa with a falcon. _Just like your house sigil_, he said with a boyish grin, eager to please. To his horror, Sansa started crying and bawling over the caged bird, making a scene in the courtyard. He had hastily pulled her into his arms and excused themselves, trusting Myranda Royce and Bronze Yohn to see to their guests.

“You look like shit,” Roland had guffawed when he had joined him at the table later that night after getting kicked out of their shared chambers by an enraged Sansa.

“When you get a pregnant wife someday, we’ll see who’s laughing,” Harry bared his teeth, glaring fiercely at Roland, wanting to throttle the man for mocking him ever since he knew of Sansa’s mood swings.

Harry was not sure if Cissy or Saffron had been like this during their pregnancies, having not been present for the most part of it. But Sansa…

He had been shocked when Sansa had refused the lemon cakes he had offered to her, wanting to please her with her favorite treat. Lemons were hard to come by at the Eyrie and they had to have them transported so they were a luxury and for Sansa to turn them away…

“But you love them,” He said, still holding the plate of lemon cakes to her.

“I do but…” She bit her lip, staring miserably at the lemon cakes,” Pregnancy doesn’t want me to.”

Ever since the pregnancy, Sansa had developed weird food cravings. There was one evening she had craved oatmeal with onions and pickles, the latter two which she would usually hate on a normal day. He even caught her adding molasses to her pottage a few times. She couldn’t stand the smell of certain food. Harry had once made the mistake of having bacon for breakfast and Sansa had complained about the smell, looking like she wanted to chuck the meal out the window. Fish, fried or stewed, and eggs were her absolute enemy.

Harry had learned that it was easier to agree with her and give her what she wanted. He also learned that Sansa was ravenous, not just in terms of food but also when it comes to their coupling. She was more responsive and would sometimes initiate it herself. He appreciatesd how Sansa’s breasts had gotten bigger ever since being with child but the downside to it was he couldn’t even touch them, Sansa would wince in pain, complaining how sore and tender they were.

On some days, Harry would allow himself a moment of solitude and some peace in the garden. The sun had gone down and only the lamps mounted on the wall of the nearby veranda served as his source of light. He would find himself sitting on the stone bench there and would be absorbed in his thoughts. It’s funny what married life had done to him, he used to find this so mundane and shirked away from dull quietness.

“Harry?” He looked up in time to see Sansa waddling into the garden.

Harry practically leapt on his feet and hurried to her, helping her to the stone bench he had been perched on.” You shouldn’t be out and about. You’d catch a cold.”

“I’m from the North, Harry. We’re used to the cold,” She scoffed.

They let a comfortable silence stretch around them and he had eventually coaxed Sansa to lean against him with an arm around her.

“I’m sorry for always snapping at you,” She suddenly spoke.

He smiled at her and pressed a kiss on her forehead.” It’s okay, I understand. It’s the babe.”

Harry turned his attention on the swell of her stomach. “I hope he has your hair.”

“Why is that, my lord?”

“It’s one of the things that made me love you.”

He could feel Sansa stiffen against him, quickly catching on to the confession before offering him a genuine smile that reached her eyes and made her vivid blue orbs practically twinkle.

“Hmm, truly?”

“Yes. It was a few weeks after the wedding in Gulltown and I found you sitting here with snow softly falling around you. I remembered thinking how you looked like the perfect winter goddess and how your red hair was a striking contrast to everything around you.”

Sansa gave him a dewy-eyed smile before leaning in for a kiss.

* * *

_Stillborn_

She heard a few of their servants and laundress gossip about how the daughter of the richest man in Gulltown had delivered a stillborn child.

She instinctively placed a hand on her belly. _How cruel it is to lose a child_.

Walking to Harry’s solar, she hesitated when she was stood in front of the door. She had raised her hand to knock on the door when it was suddenly pulled open from the other side.

She instantly noticed the troubled expression on his face.

“Harry…”

“Not now, Sansa.” He walked past her, and that had stung.

She followed after him, wary of his next course of action. He had instructed a passing servant to ready his horse.

“Where are you going?”

“Out,” He replied curtly, steps never faltering.

“I’m not sure if that’s even an answer.”

“It is.”

She stopped him in his tracks when she managed to grab his arm.

“Don’t do something stupid, Harry. Please.”

The pain in his eyes looked so raw and real, along with frustration and a myriad of other emotions that made him look vulnerable. She wanted to scoff at that because Harry would want to appear anything but vulnerable.

“Sansa, I have to.”

She let him.

* * *

Harry had returned less than a week later, crawling into bed next to her late at night and wrapping his arms around her, pressing her body closer to his and affectionately placing a hand on the swell of her stomach, strangely enough the embrace felt like coming home.

* * *

The sun hung high up in the sky, the white wispy clouds drifting about and a slightly balmy temperature, when she overheard news of about the impostor princess in Winterfell and the growing tension in the North.

Apparently the Bolton bastard had married a false Arya Stark, making the other Northern lords believe the ruse for a few months now. She also overheard them talking of how cruel and sadistic he was, taking delight in torturing his wife and her screams would be heard all over Winterfell. It was said that his previous wife had died of hunger, having eaten off her fingers in starvation. The false Arya Stark though…

_“She was a steward’s daughter, they said, Jeyne or something…”_

Dread instantly crept down her spine, freezing her to the spot. Fear gnawed at her and she felt light-headed and nauseous, breathing sharp and ragged.

Jeyne Poole. She remembered cradling the whimpering girl when they had been confined by Boros Blount after her father’s arrest. She remembered Jeyne being taken away and handed over to Lord Baelish who promised to see that she’s well taken care of. She remembered how she had begged and pleaded asking Cersei where they were sending her, promising her that Jeyne hasn’t done anything wrong, that she was a good girl.

Littlefinger had promised he was going to find a place for Jeyne but he handed her over to the Boltons.

Littlefinger had promised he was going to protect Sansa but he was going to hand her over to the Boltons if it hadn’t been for…

If Littlefinger had succeeded then it would’ve been her in Jeyne’s place, she would’ve been the one being raped and brutalized night after night.

In the solitude of the gardens, Sansa wept. She sniveled and sobbed until Harry found her in that pitiful condition.

“Sansa?” He implored,” Sansa, what’s wrong?”

As usual, Harry’s first course of action is to pull her in an embrace. Ungrudgingly, she buried her face against his chest, shaking her head at his question, sobbing and shedding tears that have probably left tracks on his tunic.

“Ssshh…” He soothed, rubbing her back in an attempt at comfort.” Is it the babe?”

“No,” She whimpered, clutching his tunic in her grasps.

“I’m really getting worried now.”

She didn’t like worrying him that way. So she tells him in between tears and sniffles with his arms protectively folded around her.

“It’s not your fault, sweetling,” He reassured, tone softening as if he hadn’t just vowed a minute ago to slaughter Littlefinger and present her his head in a platter.

She wanted to believe him. She really does.

* * *

A few months later, Sansa delivered a healthy baby boy. After ten hours of having her insides twisted, pulled, squeezed and feeling like she was going to tear open in searing pain, it had been worth it when she saw the tiny bundle, crying, redfaced, legs kicking out and small arms seeking for some sort of reassurance from his new environment. He’s smaller than a bag of sugar and on his head is a mass of sandy blonde hair. He has clear blue eyes that newborns usually have during their first few months but Sansa has a feeling that he’ll be taking after her Tully blue eyes, rather than Harry’s pale blue ones. Sansa had wept in joy and relief.

Harry had stayed by her side, despite the strong protest from the midwife and Maester Colemon. Relief, happiness, amazement, and surprise crossed Harry’s face as he couldn’t stop looking at his baby boy when the midwife had handed him.

“Eddard Arryn,” Harry breathed, smiling warmly down at the babe before directing the smile at her.

Her heart was filled with so much joy that it was a wonder she wasn’t bursting from it.

“How did you..?”

“You sometimes mumble in your sleep,” He gently eased the babe into her arms.” It’s cute, really.”

Despite his namesake, Little Ned proved to be anything but like her late father. During the day he’d be smiling, making gurgling sound in delight, and staring at whoever carries him with wide blue eyes, easily endearing himself to the people around him. However, by night, he turns fussy, seemingly never contented or happy with anything. He would keep squalling and wriggling, giving them little amount of sleep. He’d cry even more when he wasn’t being held. Oftentimes, she or Harry would be pacing half-asleep around the room, rocking the babe to sleep, singing him all the lullabies that they knew of. Even if he does fall sleep, it would seem to be a short relief for them since he’d sleep for a short period before waking, howling with renewed vigor. Most of the times, they would find themselves waking up in the middle of the night to his crying and screaming.

This night was not an exception as Sansa roused to the sound the babe’s crying from his crib inside their shared chambers.

“Harry,” She groggily rasped out, voice heavy with sleep as she nudged her husband awake.” It’s your turn.”

Harry groaned against his pillow before reluctantly getting out of bed and padding towards the crib. She eventually fell back to sleep when she felt Harry shake her awake.

“What?” She practically whined, sounding so deprived of sleep and rest.

“He’s hungry,” He passed her the babe, crying and whining in his arms.

When Little Ned was gently tucked in her arms, he pressed his face into her covered breast, hungry and eager for his meal. Cooing softly at him, she undid the laces of her nightgown and bared her breast for him to latch on. Behind her, she could hear her husband tiredly flop back to bed.

“For a small babe he sure could howl,” He declared, then playfully added,” Must’ve gotten it from you.”

“Shut up,” She shot back, glaring at him.

* * *

A messenger had ridden into the Eyrie on his black Rounsey and claimed to be bearing a letter from White Harbor.

“It is to be delivered directly into the hands of Lady Sansa,” The travel-worn looking messenger said, gesturing at the letter with a blue wax seal of merman and a black trident of House Manderly on it.

She briefly exchanged glances with Harry before accepting the letter, instructing the servants to see to the messenger with food and some accomodations.

Sansa almost dropped the letter in her hands when she read that Rickon was alive and that Jon had joined forces with Stannis, gathering his own army of wildings and planning to retake Winterfell.

“What is it?” Harry asked, regarding how her hands had trembled as she gripped the letter.

“We’re taking my home back.”

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading.


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